


Hold On

by The_Sherlocked_Shadow



Series: Explorations and Explosions [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bladder shyness, Desperation, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm, Piss kink, Semi-public masturbation... but not really, Vulnerable Sherlock, Watersports, pissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sherlocked_Shadow/pseuds/The_Sherlocked_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can you wait until we get home?"</p><p>Sherlock didn't want to think about any other option, but he couldn't help but face the facts when they were right in front of him.</p><p>"Sherlock?"</p><p>He shook his head infinitesimally.</p><p>"How long?"</p><p>"Not long enough, John."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On

It started with a case.

As did most things, actually. Lestrade texted him with a case, Sherlock went to the crime scene, went to Barts, he found a suspect, went on a chase, and apprehended the suspect. He went to Scotland Yard, let himself into the archives, planning to find the connecting dots to the other person that they were looking for.

John had been tagging along all day, asking questions, chatting to people, supplying coffee, complaining about missing lunch, and was now flipping absently through file folders in the archives with Sherlock.

Sherlock was frustrated.

He couldn't find what he was looking for. He'd been at this for three and a half hours, just in the archive room, and it was boring as hell. His mind was racing ahead with possibilities that were pointless until he found the right evidence.

Standing again, Sherlock started to pace, still reading the file.

His legs were numb, his mouth was dry, he was sweating slightly, and he was in dire need of a break. Still, Sherlock didn't give himself breaks for anything- not food, not sleep, not the loo. Besides, the food in the break food at Scotland Yard was days old, he couldn't sleep when his mind was so high-strung, and he wouldn't use public bathrooms no matter how badly he needed to.

The food and sleep wasn't too bad. He could ignore that. His bladder aching at every step he took was more demanding. _Quite_ demanding, if he were to be honest, but he could _not_ focus on that. He needed to focus on the case, focus on that and he could get back home and tend to other problems.

Returning to his seat, he crossed his legs and ignored his urge.

It took approximately thirty-nine minutes before his focus waned. His bladder was thobbing and the hours of drinking and running around and _never stopping_ was a serious distraction. He couldn't focus on anything except clenching his muscles and pressing his thighs together to stop himself from leaking.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't look up from the folder, although he hadn't been reading it for the past ten minutes. "What?"

"Are you alright?"

John was unnaturally perceptive about noticing _anything_ with Sherlock's health. If Sherlock so much as yawned on a given day, John spent the entire day trying to get him to sleep. If his stomach grumbled once, John would be ordering take-away immediately. If Sherlock so much as shifted his weight from an uncomfortably full bladder... Well, John noticed.

Ever since Sherlock had been forced to admit his phobia about relieving himself around other people, or where other people would walk in (aka, any public bathroom), John had been a lot more sympathetic. He always tried to come up with a solution, however outlandish it may be, even if it involved pissing himself like a child. Sherlock only liked doing that when he made the conscious decision to, not when his body _made_ him soak his knickers. That made his heart pound wildly in shame and his face flush red with humuliation. Pissing himself in front of John to watch the reaction- elevated breathing, dilated pupils, and sometimes, increased need for the toilet for John- was a different story, but that was only ever at home.

Not in public. Certainly not where Anderson or Donovan could see him. Certainly not.

Sherlock took a breath. "Not entirely."

"What's wrong?" John asked, sounding curious.

Sherlock knew he didn't need him to tell him. Still, ever since he and John had created mutual piss-play scenarios, John was always intrigued in hearing or seeing Sherlock desperate.

"Need to use the loo," he murmured, picking up the folder to try and focus on again.

"Really don't think that you should be contemplating pissing yourself _here_ , of all places," John said quietly.

"Not contemplating it... I'm really serious," Sherlock mumbled.

"Can you wait until we get home? Or, I don't know, the alley or something?" John sounded concerned now. Clearly, he must have cottoned onto the situation. Sherlock rarely got into this situation in public on _purpose_ , not when he wouldn't get to safety. Or maybe John could just see him shaking.

Sherlock didn't want to think about any other option, but he couldn't help but face the facts when they were right in front of him.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed shakily, closing his eyes. He shook his head infinitesimally.

"How long?"

"Not long enough, John," he said shortly.

"Okay." John sounded lost. "Okay, well... Jeez, you can't piss yourself here. You've got to go to the bathroom. Just _try_ , at least. Can you do that?"

Sherlock shifted his weight painfully, finally slipping his hands between his legs. Holding himself in public was depraving, so he had been putting it off, but there was no denying himself one thing or the other. It was either piss or stop the flood. He wasn't keen on the first option.

"I can't, John," he said, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. The cramps assailing his stomach made him want to squirm and moving made his urine slosh more painfully against the stretched walls of his bladder.

" _Try_. I'll lock the door. We'll make sure no one's around and-"

Whatever else John was going to add, Sherlock didn't hear it. Suddenly, his control broke and warmth trickled over the tip of his penis. It continued, a slow ebbing relief, as he grabbed himself furiously, tears stinging his eyes.

"John," he gasped, pressing his forehead against the table.

"Come on," John said, suddenly very close. "Come on, Sherlock, I'm not going to let you piss yourself here."

"I can't get up," Sherlock mumbled. "I'm already..." he trailed off. "I can't," he whispered.

John paused before his hand slipped onto Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.

"I just need you to wait thirty seconds, Sherlock. The bathroom's right down the hall." John's thumb rubbed circles onto Sherlock's trembling thighs. "For me, alright? This is just part of the game."

Sherlock stared blankly at the far wall as John worked him towards a different sort of relief. It was never a difficult thing to do when he was desperate, because being desperate was such a turn on, but it hurt terribly. Still, it didn't stop his breathing from hitching, his heart from pounding wildly, his need turning to one of arousal as John continued his ministrations.

"Stop," he gasped, gripping onto the table. "I'm-" He took a deep breath. "Stop..."

John removed his hand, looking at him closely. "Can you walk?"

Sherlock pushed himself to his feet. His trousers were damp from piss and pre-cum, but he was still erect. He wasted no time in striding awkwardly to the door. John followed quickly.

By the time that he had walked to the bathroom, the quick fix was wearing off. Sure, John could wreak havoc on Sherlock's body, but the idea of facing his... fear... quickly washed everything away.

There was no one in the bathroom, which was just as well, because as soon as John had closed the door, Sherlock doubled over. How terrible was it to be reduced to this... His cheeks felt hot as liquid teased his cock.

"Just go. Go!" John said, locking the door and joining him. "No one's going to walk in, just go!"

Sherlock fumbled with his zip and unbuttoned the button on his trousers. The pressure was too much. "I can't," he whimpered, bracing himself up against the wall. "Can't."

John placed his hand against Sherlock's shoulder, guiding him to a cubicle. Sherlock gasped as piss soaked further into his trousers. He tried to squirm away but John held fast.

"Just try! For goodness sake, you're pissing yourself in front of the toilet!"

Knowing that it would be futile as soon as he removed himself, he tugged himself with shaking hands from his trousers. Free of constraints, a gush of urine shot from the tip of his heavy member before it fizzled out entirely. Sherlock couldn't help the whimper of frustration as he was finally permitted to let go but he couldn't.

"Relax, Sherlock. It's just me and you," John murmured.

He tried to relax to no avail. The pressure was unbearable and it felt like his bladder was about burst if something didn't happen. Tears stung his eyes again and he was helpless to stop them from falling.

"Shit..." John muttered. "Sherlock, what can I do? Tell me."

"I can't do this, John," he whimpered. "Just... Just leave me alone, I'll... I'll deal with the ramifications," he murmured. "Go..."

John paused before seeming to straighten up. "Can I try something?"

"It won't help," Sherlock moaned, slumping against the cubicle wall.

It felt like his mind was tearing upon itself, not in a good way. His control was gone, his stomach felt like someone was dragging a knife across it, and he couldn't hold still. His cock was leaking, but he couldn't actually _piss_.

John's hand suddenly closed around his cock.

Sherlock jumped in shock, giving a soft yelp as a stream of light yellow urine rushed into the toilet. It stopped almost as quickly, leaving Sherlock caught between a whimper and tears again, although the surprise was still there. John had never _touched_ him... not without his pants or trousers being in the way.

John's hand was pleasantly warm, but shaking slightly. It was rough but felt remarkably wonderful on Sherlock. Unwillingly, Sherlock leaned further into John's hand in order to draw forth more friction.

"Shh. Hang on, hang on," John muttered, hesitantly stroking his fingers along Sherlock's length.

Sherlock couldn't contain the groan. Heat rushed straight to his face and neck, embarrassment making his stomach flip-flop. He pressed his hand over his mouth, staring with wide eyes down at John.

John's touch was good. Amazing. Extraordinary. It took not a whole minute to get Sherlock back to the place that he had been and another thirty seconds to get Sherlock to his climax. (He was really bad with quick orgasms. He needed to practice more restraint.)

He muffled his yell against his own hand as he came, his issue splashing obscenely into the toilet. His other need took over after the expel and before he could even gasp in relief, he was pissing full-force. It splashed onto the toilet seat and floor before John corrected his aim. Sherlock stayed slumped against the wall, breathing heavily as he _finally_ got to relieve himself.

His piss shot forth from him in a steady stream, hitting the water loudly. Sherlock groaned, his legs giving way. He gripped John's shoulder tightly, his opposite hand clinging to the cubicle wall.

"Alright. You're alright," John muttered. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, John... yes," he mumbled softly, over the sound of his piss hissing as it rushed out and the splash of the liquids hitting together.

John shifted uncomfortably at his side and Sherlock looked at him tiredly. He felt exhausted, like he was about to collapse through the relief of being able to relieve himself.

"What...?" Sherlock murmured tiredly.

"Nothing," John murmured, sounding embarrassed.

"John," Sherlock said, trying to put more conviction into his voice. "What?"

"Nothing. It's fine."

Sherlock focussed less on his pissing and more on John, trying to deduce his flatmate through the haze in his mind. Strange... Sherlock wasn't usually so _spent_. He gave himself an orgasm almost every time after piss play with himself, and John had given him one without removing his pants, but this...

There was just something spectacular about being touched that way.

After thinking for a moment, mostly about his orgasm, Sherlock began to realise that maybe _John's_ problem had been Sherlock's undoing.

"Erection," Sherlock murmured as his stream trickled off.

John jumped and looked at him. "What?"

"Y've got an erection... Right?"

John uncomfortably looked away.

Sherlock frowned and stood up a bit as he slipped his hands hesitantly to John's hips. John jumped again and Sherlock paused, looking down at his flatmate. They had boundaries. Still, after all this time, they had boundaries. Sherlock didn't mind being tugged off by John in Scotland Yard's bathroom, but what about John...?

John's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his teeth catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

"... John...?" Sherlock murmured, snaking his arms around John's waist and pushing his hands towards his friend's zip.

"Sher- oh... What?" John murmured.

"This might go better if you put me back in my trousers and take yourself out," Sherlock said against his ear.

"Oh," John said. "Sorry." He gave Sherlock a shake before awkwardly tucking him back into his trousers. His hands went to his own zip, then, but Sherlock stopped him.

"I've got it," he said, pushing away from the wall entirely to stand behind him. His fingers deftly found the zip and he pulled it down, unbuttoning his jeans. John's exhale was pleasant, but Sherlock's fingers quickly found something besides John's penis waiting; John's stomach was awfully distended with his trousers pushed out of the way. "John...?" he murmured.

"Ngh... What?"

"Since when did _you_ have to go to the bathroom?" Sherlock quipped.

"It's not bad," John murmured.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, scraping his nails against John's swollen stomach.

John gasped, pressing back against Sherlock's chest to escape the feeling, the tickling sensation that sent all sorts of misinformation. "Sherlock, don't. Other things..."

"Alright," Sherlock said, a touch of amusement hitting his tone. He looped his thumbs in John's belt loops to pull them down, followed by pushing his boxers down.

He wasn't entirely sure how to go about this; he had given himself hand jobs, but giving someone else one? He had never touched anyone else just as anyone else hadn't touched him. It couldn't be much different...

Sherlock hesitantly stroked his fingers against John's erection. John gasped, slumped back against Sherlock's chest entirely, and whimpered lowly.

The noise embedded into Sherlock's hard drive, making him shiver and his body tense with desire again. Stop. This was about John. John. Not you, Sherlock.

"How..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "How easy do you...?" he trailed off.

"Depends," John murmured, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"Alright."

The reaction was instantaneous and John's little pants and whimpers were music to Sherlock's ears, even though his body was too exhausted to properly respond again. Still, John didn't go off and Sherlock started feeling self-conscious.

"What am I not doing right?" he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"You're... Y-You're fine," John gasped. "I just... I... Public..."

"Oh," Sherlock said. This wasn't _entirely_ public masturbation, but it wasn't in the privacy of their own bathroom, either. "What can I do?"

John whimpered, shaking his head slightly. His eyes were squeezed closed.

"John?"

John didn't respond and Sherlock tried to rack his brain for a solution. He had to stimulate him further, obviously, but Sherlock didn't know the mechanics behind turning someone on. Clearly, pissing had an effect on John but there was nothing that Sherlock could do to provoke that kink right now. Unless...

"You like seeing me desperate."

John frowned, opening his eyes to look at him. "W-What?"

"When I'm squirming... releasing into my trousers when I'm unable to hang on... doubled over, my hands pressed between my legs in attempt to force back my ocean of piss..."

John's fingers clamped onto Sherlock's arm, trembling from head to foot.

"Whimpering slightly... my breath coming in short pants as I struggle to hold on, but no, I'm slowly losing control. Drip... by drip... trickling down my thighs, soaking into my trousers as it runs down my legs. I've lost control. You can hear it dripping onto the floor, hissing as it pours from my heavy cock," Sherlock mumbled against John's neck. "And it feels so good, rushing out of me, rivers upon rivers of hot, uncontrollable piss..."

John yelled as he came. Sherlock slapped his free hand over John's mouth as his fingers covered with John's release, becoming warm and slippery.

"Good," Sherlock praised, smirking. As John's orgasm fizzled off, Sherlock became aware of urine starting to trickle from his flatmate's penis. "Ah- _no_ ," Sherlock said, pressing his finger over the tip. Warmth flooded his fingers before his curled his fingers around John's cock. "Hang on."

"Sherlock, I've got to go..." John murmured.

"Wait 'til we get home?" Sherlock asked. "I'll solve it quickly."

John squirmed but straightened up, still breathing heavily. He took himself in his own hand, giving himself a rough squeeze before stuffing himself back in his boxers. "Hurry," was all he said.

Sherlock had never needed less encouragement.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the closest thing that I will get to ever writing quote-unquote Johnlock. So, if you like this (or anything I've written) great! If you don't... you probably want to read something else...
> 
> Otherwise, I may write a second chapter to this. I'm not sure yet, but it's a possibility.


End file.
